One With the Darkness (28 page)

Jergan directed them to lay their burdens on the table while Livia watched, remote. “Thank you,” he said when they were done. “You may go.”

The door thunked behind them.

He turned to Livia. Why did he accept her? Why was he not horrified? She had disappeared into thin air tonight. That would have condemned her as a witch in any country.

Was it because she had explained it so matter-of-factly? Or was it because she had used that power to save him?

He thought of the frogs the bully in his village had captured when he was a child. The pig-faced boy had slipped them into a cauldron of warm water where they swam happily. But the cauldron was over a fire, and the heat of the water slowly increased and increased until the frogs were boiled alive without even trying to get out of the cauldron.

Was he a frog in boiling water? Perhaps where Livia was concerned. He had slowly become so enthralled by her that he accepted anything. That would likely have consequences.

She came to herself and smiled at him, registering him for the first time, he thought. “Are … are you well?”

He deliberately softened his demeanor in case his anxiety was writ on his face. He nodded and sat, his knees rebelling. The violent erection had subsided. The welts were unimportant. But the burns had sapped his strength. The whole experience left him nauseous.

“Yes. I am well enough.” She knew he lied. She served him roasted lamb and stewed apples. He somehow managed to eat. She must know his hands shook as he cut his meat.

The world closed down to just these walls. Caligula was outside, and Chaerea, and her mysterious attacker. Outside, Rome was puzzling and despicable. Livia might not be able to save it from itself. But here the floor was warm, the wine pungent and relaxing. The food tasted of the earth, which was the same whether in Centii or in the valley of the Tiber. This place, this time, might be just the atmosphere to boil a frog.

Jergan didn’t care.

He had survived tonight. He felt on the edge of some discovery, whether the discovery of his own mortality or of transcendence he couldn’t tell. But he would boil in the heady brew and know its essence. And it would damn him or save him. Of that he was sure.

L
IVIA FELT HERSELF
jerk into the present. It was as if she had been dreaming somewhere and wakened suddenly.

She breathed in, slowly, and smiled. Jergan, across from her, took tidbits from the bowls and plates, placed them in his lovely mouth. The movement of the muscles in his jaw
as he chewed was riveting. He was due for a shave he would not get. He sipped his wine. All hung on a fulcrum, balanced, neither bad nor good, failure nor victory, sanity nor insanity. There was only the moment. How strange for someone who had fought through so many years to feel those years drop away and know that one lived, at this moment, only in the moment.

Two slave girls came and took the plates away, bowing. Livia asked them to bring medical supplies. Jergan wasn’t well. She saw his hand shaking. Every time she thought of what he had borne, she got angry all over again and felt ashamed into the bargain.

“See that we are not disturbed,” she ordered when a girl returned with the small pots and jars Livia had requested. She turned to Jergan. Those green eyes studied her as though she were a puzzle. His forearms corded as he clenched and unclenched his fists. She felt herself grow wet with desire.

His eyes never left her face as he unbuckled the wide belt that held his short tunic. He pulled the tunic over his head and unwrapped his loincloth. The unnatural erection had subsided, thank the gods. He was still full, though. His chest and belly were laced with welts, not bloody, as the ones on his back once were, but angry red. He turned and put his foot on one of the stools at the table to unlace his boot. The bend of his back and the muscles that moved under the skin were riveting. She saw several burns, one on his thigh, one on his buttocks, one on his chest and at his hip. The sisters were animals.

He glanced up and caught her staring. She busied herself with the jars. Salve of rosemary. And aloe cream. That was good for burns.

Neither spoke. She took the aloe cream and scooped some on her fingers. It was cool to the touch. Touch.

That’s what she was going to do. Touch him. She knew where that could lead. But not tonight. He was injured.

She spread the cream on the burn on his chest. He made his breathing even to cover the small gasp. And then the one on his hip, his buttocks. He smelled like rosemary and aloe now. It covered the smell of the sex the sisters had forced on him. She bent to put the cream on his thigh. Her crotch was slick. She stood up and surveyed her work.

“I’ll do.” He smiled. He must have seen her doubt. “The Cantiaci are a hardy lot.”

“Jergan, I am so sorry.” Guilt washed over her again. She pushed it down. “Come to bed. You must rest.”

He nodded. His face looked almost gray. He lay down. She doused the lamps, checked the shutters, and lay down beside him, careful not to touch his burns. He was asleep within minutes.

S
HE WOKE SOMETIME
mid-day. The room was comfortingly dim. He had turned in toward her and thrown an arm across her belly. She had been too exhausted to dream. She saw his eyes flutter open. He reached over and kissed her shoulder. His hand ran over her belly. He shouldn’t do that. But he didn’t stop and she didn’t tell him to stop. He pulled her closer and kissed her, long and slowly. She felt his rod growing stiff. Gods, but she was tempted. Her breasts grew sensitive even as he moved his hand to squeeze them gently under her tunic.

“You’re injured,” she protested, into his mouth, just before she kissed him back.

“Then make me forget last night.” He moved in to her. “Make me feel like a man.”

How could she not, when he put it so? He must have
known it. The man was a better manipulator than she was. She felt herself melting. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you.”

Her answer was a growl as he took her in his arms. He kissed her, almost ruthlessly now, opening her mouth with his tongue and probing it. His stiff rod prodded her belly. She put her hands around his neck and ran them through his hair. At least there she wouldn’t be touching abraded flesh. He pulled at the neck of her tunic. “Wait,” she protested.

“You brought others,” he growled, and the fabric ripped.

The feel of her naked breasts, pressed against his chest where he clutched her to his body, was engrossing. He kneaded her buttocks as he kissed her again, fiercely. There would be no gentle foreplay today. He needed to feel his own power. She wanted that, too.

He ravished her mouth. She spread her thighs to him immediately. He stopped himself long enough to wonder if she was ready. She could see the question in his eyes. She nodded. He knelt on the bed, his erection straining with need. She opened her thighs even wider, split herself, inviting him to plunge inside her.

He did not need a second invitation. He positioned his rod. She wrapped her legs around his hips and met his thrust by drawing herself against him. Filled, she gasped in satisfaction. His first thrusts were fierce. But when the initial need for friction was eased, he slowed, and lowered himself to cover her entirely. One hand kneaded her breast as he kissed her. She opened her mouth to his thrusting tongue even as she opened her legs to him. Let him ravish her. Let him feel his power, his control. Let that heal him.

He slowed his thrusting to give her time to catch her pleasure. There was no need. The feeling of opening herself to him was so arousing she was afraid she would
reach her pinnacle before he did. “Just take me,” she whispered into his mouth.

He grunted, freed himself and thrust, inside her, faster now. Still he lasted a long time. She had thought he would just spill himself immediately. He must be holding back. And then she couldn’t think anything, because the friction was raising her sensation to heights that might be unbearable, or might be transcendent. And he was whispering forceful barbarian words into her mouth and her ear as he thrust inside her. She felt him begin to spurt, and that satisfaction seemed to put her over her own edge. She heard herself shrieking from far away. She had only enough presence of mind to ball her hands into fists so that her nails dug into her own palms and not into his back as he banged away at her. His own shout of release seemed torn from his gut.

She sucked in air as though she couldn’t get enough as the room swam into view around her. And she began to laugh.

He rolled to one side, cradling her. “What is it?” His voice was tender.

“I’ll wager no one in this brothel last night had more pleasure than I just did.”

He smiled. His eyes were soft. “Did you have pleasure? I only thought about me.”

“You did
not
think only about you,” she accused. “You waited for me.”

“Not for very long.”

“Good thing I was quick, then.”

“I hope you were satisfied.”

He must be truly worried. Ahhh … it was his approach that concerned him. She looked up into his eyes. “I never knew being ravished could be so deeply enjoyable.” She saw his brow relax.

“You didn’t have to pay for your pleasure, as the other patrons did.” He kissed her hair. “Surely that is satisfying.”

“Did I not? You were very expensive.” She adjusted herself in his arms. “I wonder how I ever had the courage to buy you, you looked so fierce.”

“You wanted a fierce-looking bodyguard,” he reminded her. “Besides, you tamed me.”

“I used your honor against you,” she said, looking up, contrite. “I am sorry for that.”

“I thought it very clever. It was the only way to keep me from strangling you, with all your arrogant speeches ordering me to spill my seed by my own hand under your supervision.”

She could not help a chuckle. “That was a little much, wasn’t it? But I had to act confident when you were frightening me out of my wits.” How could she remind him of his slavery when she wanted to heal his raw emotions tonight? “That is behind us. I should not have mentioned it.”

“I am not certain it is behind us, Livia. Caesar declared that I am a slave again tonight. Can he do that?”

“What can he not do? However, it makes little difference to our outcome, unfortunately. You can forget about it.”

“Like you just helped me forget what happened with Caesar’s sisters. That was generous.”

She might have helped. But it would be long before he forgot the feeling of being helpless, she knew. She could still see the clouded memory of it lurking in his green eyes. What would she not do to spare him pain? Somewhere in the last days something had happened to her. And it wasn’t only the dreams that came true or the voice inside that spoke so urgently. This man had come to mean everything to her. It wasn’t that his body attracted her as none had before. That was minor in the scheme of things.
What was important was that his courage, his honor, and his intelligence spoke to her. No wonder his people had given him the important task of spying on the Roman army’s advance. He was a born leader. She admired that.

But what she felt was more than admiration.

She loved him.

The realization made her suck in a breath of air. She felt about him as she had never felt about anyone in her long life.

“What is it, my love?” he asked as he felt her stiffen.

She looked up. Concern was writ across his bold barbarian features. He couldn’t feel the same for her in return, no matter that he used the word as an endearment. She was vampire, for Vulcan’s sake. And acceptance wasn’t love.

Tell him. Tell him how you feel.

The damned voice inside her was getting more than annoying. What did it know? She couldn’t tell him. Not when the gulf between them was so huge, when he didn’t feel the same. The feeling of being uncomfortable in her own skin returned.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Nothing,” she murmured. “Nothing but our situation. And there is nothing to be done about that at the moment.”

“Sleep now, my Livia. By tomorrow, it may all be over.”

She shut her eyes, trying to enjoy how right his arms about her felt. But she didn’t go to sleep again. The outside was creeping into the room again. By tomorrow all might have gone horribly wrong. He might be in prison, or in the sisters’ clutches. And she might have lost all chance to affect the course of the empire. But whatever happened, it wouldn’t cure the gulf between her and Jergan. And the feeling of urgency, of being full to bursting
with something that couldn’t get out, would not have disappeared, either.

And that was more frightening than all the Roman legions.

J
ERGAN LOOKED DOWN
at her. She wasn’t asleep. He could tell by her breathing and the tension that had come into her spine. He felt so helpless. The forces of the empire were ranged against her. There was nothing a barbarian freedman could do for someone like Livia. He loved her. Of course he did. Who would not? Everyone around her was at least half in love with her. But she wanted to fix what was wrong with empires. She had no room left over to love any of her worshippers. She was generous to a fault, courageous, as sharp as he kept his sword. And that was besides her strength, her red eyes, her ability to do something she called translocation.

She had given her body to him in ecstatic lovemaking—a deeper, richer experience than he had ever had. But she did not give her soul. That was saved for saving the world.

And why not? She was something larger in spirit than just human. Old, wise, powerful. She was closer to the gods than he was, whether his Celtic gods, her Roman gods, or some god even stranger, he did not know. She would never give her soul to a barbarian who until yesterday had been her slave, who lived but a blink of time, who had no powers other than those of a very human male.

Desolation crept into his heart. Worse than when he had been chained to a Roman supply wagon. Loving Livia might turn out to be worse torture than the emperor’s sisters could ever devise. She owned him now more completely than before his name was written in the book.